


Not Over

by White_Noise



Series: The Other Life of Quentin Holmes, Quartermaster [9]
Category: James Bond (Craig movies), Sherlock (TV), Skyfall (2012) - Fandom
Genre: M/M, Q is a Holmes
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-11-28
Updated: 2012-11-28
Packaged: 2017-11-19 19:05:47
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,746
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/576630
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/White_Noise/pseuds/White_Noise
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Q has a promise to keep, James needs a doctor and John just wishes the Holmes family would leave him to mourn in peace.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Not Over

**Author's Note:**

> Finally saw Skyfall and adored it. In fact, I think my theory that Q is a Holmes has become stronger because of it. It was certainly enough that I decided to take a brief look into Q's childhood with Sherlock while addressing Sherlocks 'death'.
> 
> Another shout out to my lovely beta and friend Cathryn, who is probably getting really annoyed with me by now.

Doctor John Watson sighed as he tightened his grip on the folder the nurse had handed to him. She shot him a quick look and nodded towards the room where his last patient of the day was waiting for him before walking back to the office. The doctor sighed. Briefly, he wondered if he could extend his hours today or take a few patients off the hands of some of the other doctors. He would do anything to avoid returning to the unnatural silence of 221B Baker Street, anything to avoid the reminder that Sherlock was gone.

John had been working in this clinic for the last four weeks, the cost of living in Baker Street and burying his friend made it necessary to have a normal full time job. But it wasn't right. For the first time, John was starting to understand Mycroft’s warnings. When you trusted Sherlock Holmes, normal life becomes boring. John couldn't stand the silence, couldn't stand the predictability of life now that the most interesting person was gone. 

Sherlock had been demonized in the media, turned into a liar, a thief and possibly even a murderer. Faintly, John had hoped that Mycroft would do something about it, maybe threaten the media, but when he had seen the other man at Sherlock’s funeral, Mycroft had shaken his head. The media would run the story until something better took its place, the older man had said. And it had. Sherlock had been forgotten, along with everything he had done. And with him, John. 

John had shut down his blog. He couldn't stand the abuse anymore. But as much as he tried, shutting down the blog hadn’t been the end of it.

The funeral had been a bad affair. For such an amazing man, very few people had bothered to come and mourn him on that overcast day. John had been there, Mrs Hudson at his side and sobbing softly into her handkerchief. Lestrade had shown up, although none of the other members of Scotland Yard had bothered to show. And Mycroft had appeared his assistant at his side, the only representative of the Holmes family. Not the infamous ‘Mummy’ and certainly not the baby of the family.

John wasn't certain why Quentin hadn’t appeared. From the one meeting he had witnessed between them, John had been of the belief that the two younger Holmes brothers shared a substantially better relationship with each other than Sherlock had had with Mycroft. Although it had only been a brief encounter, John had gained the impression that Quentin understood Sherlock’s sociopathic tendencies, if not even find comfort in them in a way only a little brother could. And despite Sherlock’s admittedly cold reaction to the younger man, John could tell that the feelings were returned. It was odd then, that the young man was missing.

Briefly he had thought to ask Mycroft about the younger Holmes whereabouts but had decided against it. He wasn't entirely certain he was supposed to even know about Quentin and even if he was, the youngest Holmes absence might cause some anger.

That had been the last time he had seen Mycroft. As John had expected, the relationship between himself and the oldest Holmes had ended with the death of the detective. 

And now John was on his own, a tired old Army Doctor who had been briefly shown a new life. He had become a Doctor to help people. It was why he had joined the army. It had even been the reason why he had followed faithfully as Sherlock had worked his way through every case in London. Oh, Mycroft had spun a nice tale about missing the battlefields and yes, in a certain way, that was true. But in the long run, he had always wanted to help people.

But he couldn't help Sherlock. And that was what hurt.

Sighing, John made his way to the door and pressed a palm against it, using his bodyweight to move it. He glanced down at the folder in his hand, looking for the name of his next patient.

"Good afternoon, Doctor Watson." a voice said.

John only just managed to keep his grip on the folder, the door crashing into his shoulder as he started.

From his seat in the corner, Quentin Holmes gave a soft, amused laugh. 

Stepping forward, John closed the door and turned, trying to decide if he should sit in the second chair or stand. 

Quentin was relaxing in the chair, one leg resting over his other knee and both hands resting in his lap. Like their first meeting, his hair was a mess of dark curls atop his head. He was not wearing a jumper over his white shirt and tie like he had during their last encounter. Instead, it was a dark leather jacket, a small but official looking I.D clipped to the pocket. 

The young man moved in his seat, blue eyes looking through the lenses of his glasses and down at the empty seat. 

"You don't have to stand Doctor. Unlike my brothers, I am not generally hostile. Well, unless it is towards my brothers."

John looked down at his folder again, wanting to confirm that this was his patient and not a Mycroft inspired secret meeting. The name on the file did indeed read 'Quentin Holmes'.

With a sigh, the Doctor stepped forward, allowing himself to sink into the chair beside the Quartermaster. Pulling out a pen, he removed the cap and pulled a medical note pad towards him.

"What seems to be the problem Mr Holmes?" he asked politely. 

Q reached forward and took the note pad from under John’s hands. Casually, he flicked the paper sheets across his thumb.

"I have several things I wish to discuss with you, one of which is in fact of a medical nature. But mostly, I came here today to discuss you." 

The youngest Holmes leant forward.

"I know that Mycroft is no longer registering your existence. A bit of a blessing for you really. He seems to think that you will simply move on now that Sherlock is gone. But I can see that you are still suffering. You miss him deeply." 

John winced slightly. 

"I miss him too." the younger man confirmed. Placing the note book back on John’s desk, Q leant back, sighing.

"I know a lot of people won't believe me when I say this, but Sherlock was very protective of me when we were little." 

John couldn't help but glance at the younger Holmes in confusion. Q smiled softly.

"It's true that Sherlock didn't really make friends as a child. Most kids don't know how to handle sociopaths like my brother and tended to leave him to himself. They never really bullied him, but they never got close to becoming friends. I on the other hand, was a different story. Small, smart, glasses, wild hair, spots....."

This last part was followed by a small laugh and a shake of the head.

"I was a prime candidate for bullies. Mycroft used to tell us that it was just a phase and we could wait it out, but Sherlock just couldn't understand something as trivial as childish behaviour. He got....involved."

John felt his eyebrows rise in disbelief. Q just shrugged.

"Oh, he didn't do anything bad per say. He would just ....talk to them and then they would leave me alone. Many people would say this was where Sherlock Holmes learnt his greatest trick. How to read people." 

John shifted in his chair. Q didn't seem to notice the discomfort coming from the Doctor, too busy remembering.

"Sherlock didn't have many friends. But he would give anything to protect those he loved from harm." 

"Well clearly he didn't love us very much." John muttered darkly.

Q stared at him. 

"I see your mouth move, I hear the words but I think that it is not you who speaks Doctor Watson, but rather the media." 

John felt the bite in those words and immediately felt ashamed. He looked down at the floor, no longer able to meet Q's gaze. In front of him, Q seemed to deflate. The younger man also looked at the floor.

"Tell me John, did they ever show you the footage from the rooftop of Saint Bartholomew's Hospital?" 

John shook his head. He had asked on several occasions but been denied every time. Q nodded. He had been expecting such an answer.

"That is probably for the best. It was not...pleasant. But please understand John. What Sherlock did, he did to protect you. I understand that, given the circumstances it may be hard to believe, but he cared about you. Enough to give up his own life."

John finally looked up to meet Q’s eyes.

“Are you here to tell me it’s all my fault?”

Q looked horrified.

“Oh goodness no! The opposite in fact. John, you couldn’t stop Sherlock from doing what he did. I don’t think anyone could have. Sherlock always has to be in control of a situation, and in his way, doing this means he is.”

Q forced himself to stop, realising he was slipping into first person, but John didn’t seem to notice the slip up. The Doctor was staring into space, his mind elsewhere and if Q had to guess, he would bet the Doctor was thinking back to that day, when Sherlock stepped off the ledge of a building. 

“The truth is, it is not your fault. And Sherlock wouldn’t want you thinking that.” 

Finally, John seemed to return to reality.

“Why are you here, Mr Holmes?” He finally asked.

Q chewed the bottom of his lip.

“Like I said, Sherlock wouldn’t want you to blame yourself. Not like this.” 

“How do you know that?” John shot back.

“Because I know him.” Q replied. “Doctor Watson, don’t live for the past. It’s self-destructive. If you must live for anything, live for the present.” 

John drummed his fingers on the desk.

“Let me get this straight. You came here today to check up on me?” 

Q nodded. Quickly, John rose to his feet.

“Well then, I guess I will show you out.” He said pointedly. He had spent too many months playing mind games with Holmes brothers. He may miss Sherlock but he was damned if he was going to play anymore.

Sighing, Q rose to his feet, following the Doctor to the door. He turned, catching the door before it closed and peeked back into the room. The young man smiled.

“I can see why he liked you. Take care Doctor Watson.” 

The man turned.

“Oh.” 

He turned again, catching the door and pushing it open once more.

“A medical question for you, Doctor. My, well, I guess you would call him partner. He has recently gotten into a fight with Medical and they are now refusing to see him. Since his last job left him quite banged up, I was wondering if you would be able to take a look at him. Just to make sure he is no more mentally impaired than he normally is.”

John blinked. 

A hand slammed down on Q’s shoulder, forcing the young man to lean into the door as he turned to look at the newcomer. The other man smiled.

“Speak of the devil.” Q muttered.

The new figure raised a blond eyebrow in question and John couldn’t help but wince. The man’s face was a mess of bruises and cuts. Someone had clearly attempted to clean him up but the marks were still noticeable.

“Oh, I don’t think I qualify as a devil.” The newcomer smirked. 

Only now did John notice the fitted grey suit the man was wearing, which in normal cases would give him a sharp, dignified look but in his current state, made him look like a trained killer. 

“Finished flirting with the nurses then?” Q asked the man. 

“Don’t think that by changing the subject, I will forget your comment about my mental state Quartermaster.” The man muttered. 

Behind his glasses, Q rolled his eyes. 

“Bond, if I was trying to make you forget, believe me, you wouldn’t remember it.” 

The man, Bond, gave a small laugh, his features shifting under the marks. Q turned, suddenly remembering John.

“Doctor Watson, please let me introduce Mr James Bond. Bond, this is Doctor John Watson.” 

Bond carefully stepped around Q, holding out his hand. John took the offered hand and gave it a shake. John took the opportunity to study the man in depth. Living with Sherlock for so long had certainly enhanced John’s powers of deduction. 

Bond was taller than John by a few inches, as well as wider across the shoulders. He was obviously either ex or current military (John could recognise his own kind) and had the look of a natural killer. Yet, there was something undeniably soft about him. A sort of calm which so many returned soldiers wanted but so few managed to get. 

Bond was speaking to him, voice soft and smooth. The man must have been a killer with the ladies.

“It is a pleasure to meet you Doctor.” 

John nodded in reply. He glanced at Q.

“I take it this is your partner? The one you wanted me to have a look at?” He asked, giving the young man a sceptical look. Flirting with the nurses hadn’t sounded right. Q gave his own nod.

John sighed and moved out of the doorway. He doubted he would ever understand this.

“Come in then.” He muttered. 

Better to do this here than give the youngest Holmes reason to break into his apartment later which John didn’t doubt would happen. The Holmes brothers were just too much alike for their own good.

Bond moved past him, taking the chair which Q had been sitting in only moments before. Q on the other hand, strolled over to the examination table and leant back, letting the bed take his weight, his arms crossed over his chest and an amused expression on his face.

Ignoring the look, John sat down at the desk and began the exam. James was surprisingly honest about his head injuries, calmly relaying how the cuts and bruises were inflicted by the barrel of a gun connecting with his face repeatedly during what must have been a terrifying fight.

John was surprised that he wasn’t more worried about this than he should have been. 

The Doctor asked the standard questions and concluded that the man did not in fact have a concussion and that the injuries were non-life threatening. Keep them clean and they should be gone in a few days, leaving no scars or marks on Bond’s already crowded face. Nothing in Bond’s behaviour suggested that he had required any sort of medical attention.

John voiced this last statement, noting the quick, annoyed glance Bond shot at Q.

“I take it you were not interesting in seeing me today?” He asked at Bond.

The man glanced back at the Doctor.

“Blackmail is a remarkable weapon.” He replied.

Behind John, Q sniggered. John shook his head.

“Well, in my opinion, apart from the cuts which should heal by themselves, you are healthy.” 

Bond nodded and sighed. Slowly, the man pushed himself out of the chair, rolling his shoulders under his suit jacket.

“That is good to know.” Bond muttered. He held his hand out. “Thank you, Doctor Watson.”

With another glare towards Q, the man stalked out of the room. Turning his chair, John looked over at Q.

“Satisfied?” The Doctor asked.

The young Holmes nodded.

“I am.” He replied.

Q pushed his body away from the examination table, his hands now buried deep in the pockets of his jacket. 

“Thank you Doctor Watson. I know I am not someone you wanted to see but I do appreciate all you have done.”

The man reached doorway before John managed to finally find his voice.

“Quentin?”

Q turned.

“Yes, Doctor Watson.” 

John took a deep breath.

“Why weren’t you at the funeral?” The Doctor finally asking the question which had been on his mind for the last few weeks.

Q smiled slightly.

“Doctor Watson, just because you didn’t see me, doesn’t mean I wasn’t there.” 

John nodded. He looked away, ignoring the faint click of the door as it closed behind Sherlock’s brother. 

Sherlock Holmes may be dead. But somehow, John felt that his dealings with the Holmes brothers were far from over.


End file.
